Why Are You Here?
by AgentRez
Summary: Fitz's thoughts during his night with Olivia in 704 (plus the complete love scene that we were cheated out of).
1. Chapter 1

_This fic tells the story of episode 704 from Fitz's perspective, including filling in some scenes between the ones we saw (yes, I'm including the scene we wanted to see more of, but this isn't just smut). I feel that we got cheated in season 7 with four hot makeout scenes but no proper olitz love scene, so I aim to rectify that in this fanfic. Enjoy and please review._

 **MAY 2019 - DAY 102**

"Why are you here?" she demands, slamming the door. I know this is it - I'm going to have to do what I didn't want to do - use myself as "bait", as Rowan called it. I'm going to have to lie to her.

What I tell her isn't actually a lie. Of course I'm here because she is here, of course I love her. And I really do believe that we're both better people together than we are apart.

But it feels like a lie, because, as she once said to me, it's the truth but it isn't the whole truth.

I considered telling her the whole truth. I've been thinking about it all day. But if I do that, she'll think I'm trying to save her. She'll see it as an intervention she doesn't need, and she'll push me away, and I can't help her unless she lets me in.

The second she kisses me I lose all rational thought. It's just second nature to kiss her back, pull her close, pick her up and carry her to the nearest surface I can find, which in this case is one of the columns in the arch in front of her front door. It's second nature to stroke her cheek and keep kissing her. It's second nature to press her against the wall as the kisses become more intense. It's second nature to run my hands all over her and kiss her everywhere as I strip her down, releasing my lips from hers only when it's absolutely necessary.

"Wow," I find myself saying without even realizing it as I step back and take in the beautiful sight of her naked body for the first time in over three months.

She blushes as I look her up and down for several agonizing seconds. Only after she whimpers my name do I step closer to her and kiss her again.

I let her push my jacket off my shoulders and undo the top button on my shirt, but when she goes to unbuckle my pants I stop her. "Not yet," I whisper. As much as I'm throbbing for her and as constricting as the pants feel, I need this power imbalance right now. I don't know if it's because of the reversal of power outside the bedroom or because I need reassurance that she still wants me after watching her make out with Curtis Pryce, but I need her to be vulnerable for just a couple minutes by standing in front of me wearing nothing but her heels before I get undressed.

For some reason I'm surprised when she obeys. As bossy as she is outside the bedroom, she usually (but not always) lets me take control of this part. But for some reason I expected that would change now that she's the one running the world. I expected her to disobey me, to shove me against the wall, unbuckle my pants, yank them down, and demand that I give her what she wants. For some reason I'm glad she doesn't. As hot as that would have been I guess I need reassurance that things haven't changed between us even though our roles in the world have changed

The other day, when I went on Pryce's show, he made a point of telling me after the show that she hadn't taken his calls - rather, her assistant hadn't put his calls through or booked another hotel stay for them - since I came back. At first I thought he was being classy, telling me I had nothing to worry about, but then he made a joke about running for president so he could measure up. I don't know what he intended by it, but it made me furious. Does he really think that little of her? Does he actually believe the caricature the media painted of her as an ambitious power-hungry slut after she outed us to the world? My first instinct was to protect her and set him straight, but I bit my tongue. I know Liv well enough by now to know that wouldn't be appreciated.

The truth is, Curtis' comment dredged up a nagging insecurity I've had in the back of my mind for the past few months since we said goodbye. Actually, I think I've felt it for the past eight years, but didn't recognize it. Since I got to Vermont, every time I imagined seeing her again I felt this twinge of anxiety. Anxiety about whether she would want me the same way now that she's the one with all the power. Anxiety about whether she would still look at me the same way now that I'm no longer the leader of the free world, the way she looked at me when she kissed me goodbye. Technically I was no longer president at that point, a fact that comforted me to no end. But I still looked the part, wearing a presidential suit and stepping onto Marine One for the last time. Now I'm just a regular guy, well, sort of. Will she see me the same way now that I'm wearing a polo shirt and khakis and struggling to even get my story on page six of tomorrow's Post?

Maybe it's why I've stayed away. Maybe it's why I stared at her number in my new phone so many times but never found the courage to press the green call "button", if you can even call it a button, at the bottom of the screen. Maybe it's why I was so reluctant to come back and so eager to convince myself I'd moved on.

As I kiss her now, though, I see that my fears are for naught, because she's kissing me back as hungrily as she ever has. She's moaning and whimpering every time our lips connect. Her body's twitching in a way that tells me she's aching for me as badly as I'm aching for her. She's looking at me in a way that tells me that she needs me, and maybe not just physically.

That last thought makes me hesitate for just a second, so short I don't even think she notices. Should we be doing this right now? Should I tell her about Rowan's visit to Vermont first? The last thing I want is for her to think I'm working for her father or give her any reason not to trust me.

On the other hand, I know from experience that breaking down her physical walls is the first step in breaking down her emotional walls. In the almost ten years we've known each other, we've had some of our deepest and toughest conversations late at night after having passionate sex that wears us out and breaks down our resistance. It feels slightly manipulative now, but the alternative is making her feel rejected by stopping this. If I do that, her walls will go right back up, she'll kick me out, and we won't get the chance to talk about anything.

Maybe these are just excuses. Maybe this is just my way of rationalizing because she's standing inches away from me, and she's so naked, and so beautiful, that I can't think straight. I haven't had her (or anyone else, not that anyone could compare) in over three months and my whole body is aching because I need her so badly.

I find myself moving my lips down from her mouth, grazing her neck before picking her up slightly so I can suck on her breasts while running my hand up and down the soft skin on her back.

I eventually put her down and kneel down in front of her, trailing kisses down her stomach then her legs as her moans and gasps get a little louder and more intense. I deliberately tease her, running my tongue up and down her thighs, close to her core but not quite, making her beg before I put my mouth where she wants it the most. Even after I do, I start and stop several times to tease her, knowing from experience it will make it more intense for her and because I want to hear her beg, really beg. I keep teasing her until she whimpers my name over and over, begging me not to stop.

As I pick up the pace she tries to slide down the wall into a sitting position, but I don't let her. Instead, I hold her hips firmly in place. "I've got you," I reassure her. It's a double entendre, really. On the surface, I'm telling her that I'll hold her up and won't let her fall if I make her feel so weak she can't stand in 4 inch heels. But I'm also trying to tell her that even if I am her weakness, as Rowan says, I won't let myself be a weakness that gets exploited, by Rowan or anyone else. I'm trying to send the message that if I make her weak then I'll keep her strong, keep her standing tall even when she can't stand on her own.

I can tell when she's getting close when her breathing and her grip on my hair intensify. I hold her firm as she starts to shake, throwing her head back and moaning. I ignore her pleas that she can't take any more, torturing her with my tongue until she's shaking so hard I have to lift myself up to keep her steady. She surprises me by crying out as she comes, not caring that there are Secret Service agents on the other side of the door who can hear her. Eventually I stand back up and wrap my arms around her. I still don't let her sit down, making her cling to me for support instead as her body continues to tremble. When the shaking starts to subside I kiss her gently, letting her taste herself as she comes back down to earth.

As soon as her trembles subside things heat back up again. Our kisses grow more intense as she tentatively reaches for my belt buckle. "Fitz, please," she begs.

"Please what?" I tease. She shakes her head, annoyed that I'm making her spell it out. "Tell me what you want," I say gently.

"Please...can't wait...need you," she sputters. "Need you...inside me...now...right now."

I can't help but smirk a little. It took her years to get to the point where she trusted me enough to let me hear her beg like this, enough to let me see that she wants me as badly as I want her, enough to put herself in a position where she can't stand without me holding her up. I just hope someday she'll get to that same point emotionally. I hope one day she'll stop trying to hide her dark side from me and accept that I love her no matter what. I hope she'll learn how to lean on me when she's overwhelmed by the stress and conflict and impossible decisions that come with running the world.

"What's the matter? Curtis Price hasn't been satisfying you?" I ask smugly, because I can't resist.

Liv shoves me playfully, half annoyed and half amused by my taunting. "Do you really think I'd waste my time with a man who didn't make sure I was satisfied?" she retorts.

"No, I guess not," I concede, trying desperately not to get angry at the thought of another man making her satisfied while I was gone. The truth is, it's been making me crazy since the moment I saw them together. Try as I might to hide it, she must sense how I'm feeling, because she cradles my face with both her hands and looks me square in the eye. "That doesn't mean...he's not you," she says softly. I smile, letting out a breath I didn't even realize I was holding. It doesn't explain everything, but it's enough to reassure me for now.

Still, I have to resist the urge to act on my primal instincts. She looks so sexy wearing nothing but high heels, and the alpha male in me wants to bend her against the wall and fuck her senseless, then stop when she's close and demand that she tell me nobody else makes her feel so good before I continue. I have no doubt she'd enjoy it thoroughly, but I resist the urge, because we haven't been together in over three months and I want to do this right. I hate that she let another man inside her physically, but from the way she's looking at me, I know he couldn't have made love to her the way I'm about to because she wouldn't have let him. That's what "he's not you" means. So I gently stroke her cheek, silently reassuring her that I still want her, still love her. I pick her up and carry her to her bedroom, ignoring her protests that it's too far away.

I lay her down on her bed and take another minute to just admire her beauty. I back up so my clothes are just out of her reach. She turns over onto her stomach and perches her head on her hands, trying unsuccessfully to look unphased as I slowly undress myself. Eventually, I take off all my clothes and climb into bed beside her, stroking her back as I plant gentle kisses down her breasts, neck, and stomach. Finally I let her kiss my bare chest, rub my back, and finally put her soft hands where I need them the most. She lowers her mouth onto me and I savor the warm, amazing feeling for just a minute. Then I stop her, knowing I won't last if I let her continue. I ignore her protests as I gently turn her onto her back and hover over her. I stroke her hair gently and lower my mouth onto hers, kissing and teasing her for several minutes while she squirms wanting more.

Finally, when I have her really begging, I slowly ease myself inside her. I don't start moving right away, taking in the feeling of her warmth wrapped around me. It's been over three months since I've been inside of her and it's heaven. We start out slow, looking into each other's eyes, savoring the feeling of coming together after several months apart.

* * *

A couple hours and several rounds later, we're sitting up in her bed drinking wine, talking about nothing and everything at the same time. She looks adorable in my gray polo shirt, her bare legs stretched across my lap. The more we talk, the more I realize just how much I've missed her these past few months.

We talk about the missing girls case, and as usual she has some great ideas for how to not only call attention to the cause, but get the Justice Department to make it a priority.

She surprises me by asking what I would do about Bashran. She seems surprised when it turns out my answer is similar to what Mellie wants to do. She seemed to think Mellie wasn't being objective about the situation, but my answer got her rethinking whether she was right about that.

She asks about Vermont, and she laughs as I tell her about my multiple failed efforts to cook chicken before finally getting it right. Then the conversation turns a bit more serious as I tell her about my fight with Marcus.

"In my defense, I tried calling the cable company myself when the internet wasn't working," I explain. "But the employees kept hanging up because they thought it was a prank call." Liv smiles and shakes her head.

"But that doesn't change the fact that Marcus' larger point probably had some truth to it," I admit. The events of that night have been bothering me for the past month, and it helps to talk to her about it. Talking to her always helps. "I know I didn't intend it as a racial thing...I honestly didn't process what Jim said about dismissing the help until after I had asked Marcus to get the scotch. I've gone over it many times in my head, questioning whether I would have done the same thing if it were Abby in his seat and I'm almost positive I would have. But it still makes me wonder if I've always been a prick without realizing it."

"No," Liv says firmly. "You're not a prick. A little oblivious, sometimes, but you're not a prick."

It's reassuring to hear her say that. "I guess I assumed if I were as insensitive about race as Marcus said you'd have called me out on it a long time ago. Maybe that just proves how clueless and aloof I am," I lament.

"Marcus grew up in Southeast DC. He views the world differently than I do. If it makes you feel any better, he views me as clueless and aloof too."

I can't help but laugh at that.

"What if it were Cyrus?" Liv inquires. "Would you have sent Cyrus off like the help to fetch you the scotch?"

I don't answer right away because I'm genuinely challenged by her question in a way that I really missed being challenged. "To be honest, probably not," I admit. "But it's not because he's white or male. It's because he's old enough to have been friends with my father."

Liv nods, accepting my explanation. The events of that night have been weighing on me for a while, and it feels so good to be able to talk to her about it. Well, about part of it anyway. I don't tell her what happened later that night, when her father showed up, and she doesn't tell me about B613. But as worried as I am about her, it's comforting to realize that at least right here, in this moment, she's still the same person I said goodbye to three months ago. No matter what she's done or what she's gotten herself into, the real Olivia - _my_ Olivia - is still _there_. She isn't _gone_ , not yet at least. It's that realization that would keep me going through the darkest times. It's why even after the stunt she pulled in Vermont, when it felt more hopeless than ever, I would still refuse to accept that the woman I love was gone for good.

After a minute, she grins. "You should tell Marcus that he should be glad all you asked him to do was fetch you a bottle of scotch. At least you never asked him to lay naked on the desk where they signed the treaty ending the Spanish American War and act as a replacement for a scotch glass."

I burst out laughing. "Excuse me, but I don't remember you complaining one bit," I retort. "In fact, I'm pretty sure it was your idea to go along with Mellie's demand that we make a list of every piece of furniture in the White House we'd desecrated so she could have it replaced before she took office, which is what led me to notice we had yet to leave our mark on the Treaty Table."

Liv chuckles. "Guilty as charged," she says with a grin. We laugh together for a minute, and then I snake my arms around her and kiss the side of her face. "I missed you," I tell her.

She surprises me when she says that she missed me too. That she missed me isn't so shocking, although it's good to hear, but the fact that she said it out loud surprises me.

"Mmmm...did you miss this?" I tease, trailing soft kisses down her neck.

"Mmm hmm."

"What about this?" I ask, running one of my hands up the inside of her leg and thigh.

Her soft moans as I get closer to her center give me all the answer I need. I roll on top of her and start kissing her on the lips, and things heat up again quickly after that. I honestly didn't think I had another round in me tonight, but as soon as she planted that visual in my head of her laying naked on the treaty table, my favorite scotch running down her bare back, I knew I had to have her again. Our pace quickly grows frantic, and after a couple minutes I flip her onto her stomach and finally give it to her hard like she's been begging for since round 2. I pound into her relentlessly, stopping only when she makes a noise that could signal pain or pleasure.

"Are you okay? Am I hurting you?" I ask breathlessly.

"No," she gasps. "Don't stop. So good." I quickly resume my assault. Her moans get louder and louder, and it's music to my ears after so many years of having to be quiet. I keep going until I feel her walls clench around me, then finally let go and collapse on top of her. After a moment, I roll over so I am laying on my side facing her as we both struggle to catch our breaths.

"Hi," she whispers as I gently stroke her cheek.

My face breaks out into what I'm sure she'd call a goofy grin. "Hi," I whisper back, pulling her into my chest and kissing the top of her head, forgetting for a few minutes about why I came here and relishing how good it feels to have her in my arms again.

* * *

 **DECEMBER** **2019**

Seven months later, when she's once again curled up in my arms as we lay awake in her bed late at night, she surprises me by asking the same question she asked that night in May: "why are you here?"

* * *

 _I hope you enjoyed this. The next chapter will pick up a few months after 718 and explain why she is once again asking "why are you here?" Please review! I love reviews._


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for all of the reviews on chapter 1. This chapter is shorter and not nearly as steamy (sorry to disappoint!), but it's the start of a conversation Fitz and Liv really need to have. I ended up breaking it up into two pieces because it was getting really long, so hopefully I will have the next part up within a week. Enjoy and please review!_

 **DECEMBER 2019 (3 Months After 718)**

"Why are you here?" she asks.

 _15 MINUTES EARLIER_

"Don't make me do this," she pleads. I wake up and feel Liv thrashing around next to me, begging someone not to make her do something. Unfortunately, it's an occurrence that's become all too common.

It's been over seven months since I came back to DC, and almost three months since we exposed B613. Liv and I are in a much better place now, and we're finally moving forward and building a life together now that we're both free of the White House. But she's still having nightmares, still haunted by her past and struggling with her guilt. I know from experience that it takes a long time to forgive yourself, and I tell myself she'll get there eventually, but it's hard seeing her like this.

I try wrapping my arms around her and pulling her close. Sometimes that's enough to stop the nightmares without waking her, but not tonight. She fights to break free of my grasp, so I let go and gently shake her shoulder.

"Liv," I whisper. When she doesn't respond I say her name louder and shake her just a little. "Liv, wake up," I urge.

Her eyes dart open and she stares at me disoriented. "It's okay...you're just having a bad dream," I say gently. I place my hand on hers but otherwise give her space. She just stares at me blankly. "Need a sec?" I whisper. She nods. I go into the kitchen and pour her a glass of water.

When I come back into the room, I'm heartbroken to see her fumbling around looking for that disgusting hooch stuff that she drinks when she's really stressed.

"Fitz, go back to sleep," she orders.

"Not until you calm down. What do you need?" I ask gently. Sometimes she wants me to hold her after she has a bad dream, sometimes she needs space, sometimes she lets me use my superpowers to distract her. I don't know what she wants right now - to be honest, this is the most shaken up I've seen her after one of these dreams - so I stand next to her but don't get too close, waiting for her to tell me what she needs.

"Nothing. I'm fine," she insists as she finds what she's looking for. I get a sick feeling in my stomach as I'm reminded of the night in the White House when we had that horrible fight right before Christmas.

This time, however, I know how to handle her, or at least I think I do. I don't follow her to the closet, and I don't demand an explanation. As much as I hate seeing her drink like this, this time I know better than to pick a fight. So I sit down on the bed and wait patiently while she takes a few gulps of the hooch. Afterwards, she calms down a little and sits down next to me. After a minute she leans her head against my shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she says softly.

"Stop," I say firmly, wrapping my arms around her and kissing the top of her head. We sit there in silence for at least one minute as she breathes heavily trying to calm down. After her breathing steadies a little, I reach over to the nightstand and grab the glass of water, gently coaxing it to her lips. "Come on. I don't want you to get a headache," I say. To my relief, she doesn't fight me. I rub her back as she takes a few sips. She shivers a little, so I grab my NAVY sweatshirt that she likes from the closet and help her put it on over her silky chemise.

"Thank you," she says softly as she sits back down in front of me and leans back against my chest. I wrap one arm around her and hold her hand with the other. I want to ask her about her dream, but I don't. I know she'll tell me if she wants to. So I just hold her and silently reassure her that it's going to be okay.

"You should go back to sleep," she says when I'm unable to suppress a yawn. I shake my head. "I'm okay now, really," she insists. "You can't keep staying up half the night every time I have a bad dream."

"Why can't I?" I challenge.

"Because you need more than 3 hours of sleep."

I chuckle a little. "You do realize I spent 8 years as president of the United States, right?"

"Not the point."

I shake my head again. "When you worked on my campaign, how many nights did you get less than 3 hours of sleep because you were killing yourself to get me elected?"

"Are you talking about nights I was actually up working, or the nights you kept me up doing other things?" she asks. I can't help but chuckle. Then I smile, thinking back to all the passionate late nights on the campaign trail, when we desperately needed sleep after an 18 or 20 hour day but somehow needed each other even more.

"Even if you limit it to the first category, I'm pretty sure I owe you a lot more sleepless nights," I tell her. "So stop worrying about me and for once in your life, let me take care of you for at least five minutes. Okay?" She nods and relaxes into me, but a few minutes later, when I ask her if she wants me to make her some popcorn, she starts laughing dryly.

"What is it?" I ask. I have a bad feeling this isn't a happy laugh, but a sign that she's a little drunk and potentially about to get combative.

"Why are you _here_?" she asks, giggling and shaking her head with disbelief.

* * *

 _Sorry to be a tease. I promise next chapter will provide more context for her question. Please review if you have a minute._


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm sorry for taking so long to update. I have not decided yet whether this will be the end or whether I will continue it, but if I decide to end it here I have several other olitz fanfic ideas. Happy reading!_

* * *

I'm not sure exactly what her question means or how to respond. I know from a decade of experience how much she hates feeling vulnerable like this, so I brace myself for her to pick a fight and try to push me away.

"What's wrong? You're sick of me already?" I ask finally, trying to make light of the situation and hopefully ward off an argument. I'm mostly joking but not entirely. She loves living alone and when she insisted that I check out of the hotel a few weeks ago and move in with her I was afraid she'd feel crowded and come to regret it. Eventually I agreed, because I was beyond tired of living in a hotel room, and since I stay at Mellie's house in Virginia two or three nights a week when I have Teddy anyway, I figured Liv would still get some time to herself. Eventually we're going to look for a bigger place together but for now this arrangement seems to be working for everyone. Teddy gets to keep his airplane-themed bedroom, Mellie has someone to check on her house regularly while she's living in the crown jewel of the American prison system, and Liv gets to stay in her place as we ease into living together. It's not exactly the post-presidential life in Vermont I had envisioned for us, but I get to wake up next to the love of my life almost every morning so I can't complain.

To my relief, she smiles a little and shakes her head. "No. I'm not sick of you," she says, her voice slightly slurred. "I just don't understand why you're still here, after everything I...I lied to you, I betrayed you, I played you like a fool, I broke your heart over and over and yet here you are, waking up with me night after night, jumping up to fetch me water and asking if I want popcorn. Is that admirable or ridiculous?" she asks rhetorically.

For a moment, I feel anger I didn't know I had start to bubble up. Is she honestly belittling me for refusing to give up on her, for trying to help her?

I force myself to calm down before I speak, reminding myself that she's still shaken up from whatever happened in her dream and realizing how hard it is for her to let me see her vulnerable like this. The last thing I want to do is escalate the situation.

"Come on, Liv," I plead. "Don't pick a fight."

She shakes her head and reaches for my hand, which I take as a good sign. "I'm not picking a fight, Fitz. I honestly want to know."

From her tone I'm pretty sure she's serious. "You want to know why I didn't give up on you?" I ask gently.

"Yeah," she says softly.

I shake my head, not quite sure how to respond. Truth be told, it's a conversation we've both been putting off, and this might not be the ideal time but it's a fair question and she deserves an answer.

I could tell her it's because I love her, but I know she wants more of an explanation than that.

"I tried," I admit. She looks surprised. "Or maybe I just thought about trying. I don't know. After Vermont, I told myself I needed to move on. Marcus kept suggesting women I could go out on dates with, although I think he mostly did it to make a point. I did, once. And I looked at houses in DC. There was one I seriously considered, but it had those post-war style windows that I know you hate and it just...didn't feel right. Maybe that is ridiculous, I don't know. But I knew the person you had become wasn't who you really wanted to be, and I just...I couldn't accept that you were really gone," I say, my voice choking up a little. "And for what it's worth, you didn't play me like a fool," I tell her.

She looks at me, surprised.

"I knew you were lying, in Vermont," I tell her. "I was hoping I'd be wrong, but in my gut I knew it was just too easy. I knew that if you really intended to resign you'd be a lot angrier at me than you were."

"Then why let me go?" she asks.

"Because if we hadn't convinced you by then, if you were willing to go to that length to deceive to the people who love you the most, then keeping you locked up any longer wasn't going to do anything. I knew we couldn't force you to walk away from the White House and B613 if you weren't ready. And I was angry...really angry. What you did, it really hurt," I admit, getting a little choked up.

"I know," she says softly.

"It made me feel like I wasn't enough for you," I tell her.

"Fitz, that's not...it wasn't about you," she insists.

"I know that," I reply. "It's not always about me, right?"

"Right."

Liv squeezes my hand and looks into my eyes, blinking back tears. I think she's just starting to understand how hard it was for me and everyone who loves her to watch her descend into darkness.

"What if you're wrong?" she asks in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What?" I ask, utterly perplexed by her question.

"I said, what if you're wrong, about me?" she repeats.

"I wasn't wrong," I respond. "You've already proven that I wasn't wrong."

"Have I? Or is this just me being on my best behavior until the other side of me comes back out?" she asks.

"Liv, what...where is this coming from?" I ask, perplexed. Her eyes well up with tears.

"Liv?" I prod gently. Suddenly, she is breathing heavily again, trying to ward off a panic attack.

"It's okay, I'm right here," I whisper, tightening my grip around her.

"They were..." she begins. I wait patiently even though I have no idea what she's talking about.

"They were all dead," she says softly after a long moment. "In the dream. We were back in Vermont, and everyone except you who participated in the intervention was laying on the floor dead. I don't remember killing them but I must have, because you and I were the only ones who were still alive. They didn't have any gunshot wounds so I think I poisoned them all. And I was pointing a gun at you, and I could hear Cyrus saying 'it's the difference between having all the power and having none,' just like he said to me in real life. And I don't know...if I was going to pull the trigger."

"Liv," I say gently, not sure what I'm going to say after that. I'm genuinely stunned by her dream. It's at that moment that I realize she's not just feeling guilty - she's feeling scared.

"I think...he tried," she says. "Cyrus. I think he tried to be a better person, after he got out of jail. But his past caught up with him and his inner monster came right back out."

"You're not Cyrus," I say firmly. "You're better than he is...better than all of us."

She looks at me like I'm crazy. "How can you say that?" she asks.

"Because it's the truth."

"The truth? The truth is, I became everything I used to fight against."

"Liv, I know..."

"No, you don't!" she cuts me off. "You think you do but you don't. You don't know what it's like to be so desperate to hang onto power that you want everyone you love to hate you so you won't have any weaknesses. You don't know what it's like to lose sight of everything you used to believe in. You don't know what it's like because despite spending 8 years as the most powerful man in the world, you never lost your soul, not the way I did."

For a moment I'm speechless. Does she really believe that?

"And why do you think that is, Liv?" I find myself saying. "You think it's because I'm such a good person? Because I assure you, it's not. If you're right, if I still have a soul, then it's for one reason and one reason only."

"And what's that?" she challenges. I stare at her blankly. Does she really not know?

"Because I had you," I say softly. "I had you to keep me grounded, to remind me who I was and why I wanted to be president in the first place. Because even when we weren't together, every time I thought about taking the easy road or the politically expedient road, I had to imagine the disappointed look on your face. I know that I was a better president and I _am_ a better man because of you. So you want to know why I didn't give up on you, that's why," I say, my voice choking up and tears filling my eyes. "It's why I can't stop loving you no matter how much you make me wish I could sometimes."

She can't help but smile through her tears at that last line. "I'm sorry, Fitz," she says softly.

"You don't need to apologize, Liv. I forgave you a long time ago. Now you just need to forgive yourself."

"I don't know how," she admits.

I squeeze my arms tighter around her and kiss the top of her head.

"You'll get there," I assure her. "Think about all of the people in your life and everything you've forgiven us for. You see the good in everyone, it's one of the things that makes you so special. You just need to see the good in yourself too. You need to forgive yourself like you forgave all of us, okay?"

"Yeah," she says softly, but I can tell she's not fully convinced.

We sit there in silence for a minute, until I reposition us so that I'm laying on the bed with Liv curled up on my chest. "I told you, I'm not going anywhere," I reassure her.

"I told you, I'm not going anywhere," I reassure her.

To my surprise, she looks me in the eye and says two words that make me sure it's all been worth it. "Me neither," she promises.

* * *

 _I was going to have more, where Fitz and her team stage a second intervention to help her work through everything, but this seems like a good stopping point, so I may do that as a separate story. I hope you have enjoyed this. Please review if you have a chance._


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